Breathing
by Miriza
Summary: After 28 days and nights of boredom, Sherlock decided to do something to it. This is my first fanfic-story.
1. Boredom

Disclaimer: I don´t own Sherlock. He belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. He just feeds my imagination.

After 28 days and nights of boredom, Sherlock decided to do something with it.

Boredom overwhelmed him like heavy black depths of oceans. It was like he was lying on the bottom of abysses feeling nothing, sensing nothing and what worst, thinking nothing. Just boredom was all he can grasp just now. It had passed 28 days (and nights) without any interesting case to investigate and solve. It meant a life time for him, who needed constant brain stimulation. He turned to stare to the wallpaper. Six hours have passed, when he had tried to find some meaning from the texture of his wallpaper. What a pointless effort! Boredom is needling the every cell of his body.

Where was John? For a moment he tried to recall. Oh, he has gone to his work. How boring that can be! Even if John would have been there, with him, it wouldn´t have made any difference. John couldn´t blow away his aching boredom as far as he knew. Anyone isn´t so skilled. Expect…Moriarty. That bastard was the only one, who knew how to wake him from the aching nightmares of boredom. The cost of this luxury was just too much to handle to him and to the rest of world.

Sherlock concentrated to his feeling about his body functions, because there isn´t anything else left. The breathing is such a trivial happening! In, out, in, out, in, out, in, out. Over and over again, during whole your life, you are wasting your efforts, energy and time to such a predictable action. In, our, in, out, in, out. Is this a rhythm of life? If it is so, then what worth is life then, when you measure it by_ this, _in, out, in, out, in, out, in, out… how predictable! No surprises, no anything to deduce. He can cease to eat, to drink, to sleep, if he just want it, if he has better things to do in his life, like catching a serial killer. It was just a matter of willpower. He has done it more than once, and here he is still, well and without permanent harm. It is safe. What if… what if he can change the foreseeable course of breathing too? Why had he not thought about that before?

Let´s try….

In, out, in, out, out, out, in….in, out, out, out, out. in, in….in, out, out, out, out, in, in, in, in hold it. HOLD IT! In, in, in….hold it.

What if there would not be a exhalation at all? That is something worth to muse. Until…he felt his head began to make dizzy. What a weak body! He had to take another breathe. This didn´t work very well. He should try this harder, but it would last too long. He wanted results faster, NOW! He recognized an old addict self to wake up inside him. He stared to his wall and started to think his problem. At least he has something to think about now.

Hm. He has some medical substitutes in his kitchen… oh, their kitchen… for his experiments. Maybe these drugs can help him to try this a little longer. Of course he understood, that if he didn´t breathe at all, he would die. He had to know such things as a consultative detective. It didn´t occur to his mind, that people usually know such things, because what people usually know or do, is only a little or hardly no interests to him.

He went to the kitchen, which is more like a laboratory of a crazy chemist than a kitchen, where you cook your dinner. Oh, dinners are not his problem. If there are some, he might eat, if he hasn´t anything better to do. If there are none, then he doesn´t eat. It is so simple. But now he looked for a definite drug, which would suit for his purpose. Here it is. He looked at the brown bottle, where were blue capsules in. He pondered just a second. That is not, what he has done for a long time, but this is an emergency. He needed to do something to escape from the abysses of boredom, before they drowned him.

He went back to the living room, to his familiar sofa, and looked dreamingly at the pills. He has mentally promised to himself to not mess with drugs again, specially after John has moved in. He hasn´t forgot the shame of the drug bust in the front of his new flat mate. But to be objective, these are not exactly illegal drugs, but expedients for his experiments. He has got them legally – more or less. So there cannot be anything wrong to try them. Specially one of their subside effect interested him: paralyzing functions of lungs. There are not meant for human medicine, but for chemical laboratory, and for veterinaries, for euthanize animals. In fact… oh, now he remembered, in fact Molly has given them to him. Always so sweet Molly. She has been a little worried about what he is going to do with these pills, but he has answered, that there isn´t absolutely anything, that she should worry about. He uses them just in his laboratory. And no, any living soul would get ever know, where he has got them. Even Molly understood, that it will be so.

He has promised. One moment he hesitated, but then he felt himself irritated. Why did everyone hushed him? What is the point. As if he wasn´t an independent, thoughtful adult, but an irresponsible kid. They all thought so. John, mrs Hudson, Mycroft, Molly, even Lestrade, somehow, although he didn´t show it so clearly, but there it was still, he was worried, too. He was bored, and their concern didn´t help him at all. They couldn´t help him. His enemies gave him something to do, something to think. At least he wasn´t bored, when his enemies kept him busy. But again: where are they now? On a vacation? Even his enemies have betrayed him. So what is the point of this boring existence, if he wasn´t allowed to modify it a little.

He opened the bottle, took one blue capsule, as measuring it. It looked very tempting, like a candy. They are not very strong pills. One cannot do permanent harm. Then without any more thinking, he swallowed it.


	2. Inside world

John returned to his home from work after doing some groceries, as usually. Sherlock wouldn´t bother to concentrate to such triviality of everyday life. Why should he? If there was no food, then he didn´t eat. No wonder the man is so incredible thin. In fact John should have worked eight hours today, but Sarah let him go home earlier, because there were three doctors, and it seemed to be quit. John Watson wasn´t sure, if he would have preferred to stay at work, when he thought the contemporary situation at his home. Sherlock hasn´t got any challenged crimes for many weeks, and hit has turned him almost intolerable. He isn´t a ease person even in his best time, but now… He stared at wall several hours, lying on his sofa, he didn´t bother to dress or go out for days, and hardly responded, if John tried to talk to him. His quirky and unsocial behavior overcame him always, when there is a little longer pause in his work. Because of his great demands what comes to the challenge of crimes, there will be always quieter times in his life, and harder times for John .

John closed the door behind him and stepped to the living room. Sherlock was lying on the sofa, which didn´t exactly surprise John. He lied on his sofa already, when he has left to work at the morning. He carried his shopping bags to the kitchen. "Sherlock!" No response, but he didn´t expected it. He started to organize food staffs into proper places. "Sherlock! How has your day been?"

Finally he looked at the living room more properly. Sherlock laid on his sofa on his back, staring to the roof, unmoved. There was something odd in Sherlock´s position… John couldn´t say, what it was, but it was there. "Sherlock?" John repeated hesitantly. Probable his eccentric roommate was only in one of his moods, again. But he seemed like….a cold shiver went through John, when he went closer. Sherlock gazed glassy eyes to the roof, like he has been very far away. He was paler than usually. Now John is very close to his friend, who seemed not to breath at all. He didn´t breath, John realized suddenly, and picked a brown bottle from the carpet. Brown bottle, blue pills. Has Sherlock taken some drugs? But he should have been clean! What in the heaven are these? No name on the bottle. How many? John tried the pulse, which was hardly detectable. Sherlock was dying, and John didn´t know why.

_Sherlock heard someone called his name, far away, muffled. He hardly heard it and chose to ignore it. The voice faded away. The waves of boredom has ceased. The irritated predictable breathing has ceased. For some reason or another he has a unease _feeling _that he should have been worried about it, but he couldn´t. This is what he has been looking for. Expect he was now in the dark place. Where has he come?What would he find there?_

John looked at their kitchen like he hadn´t seen it before. He realized – really realized - first time of his life at Baker Street, how much chemicals Sherlock has collected for his experiments. How many unhealthy substances their kitchen was full of. They haven´t been a real problem before. "You idiot!" John thought desperately. If he had come a little later or if he had been at his work eight hours, as he has promised first, instead of six, he would have found his friend dead as a grave stone. If it just wasn´t too late. He was a doctor, but was he capable to help Sherlock at this critical moment. He reminded himself about how to give first aid for someone, who has taken something poisonous. What had Sherlock tried to proof? That he could live without breathing?

"Sherlock! Do you hear me!" John shook Sherlock harshly. He has to try to get some life to him or he would lose him.

_Sherlock observed one bright burning spot in the darkness, in the middle of his sliding consciousness. What was this? Interesting. He needed more data. He concentrated to the phenomena and noticed, that he can move towards it. In fact he didn´t need even to make an effort. This bright spot of light is all he sensed now. All what is left of. He was totally alone, but he had used to be. It was how he was. He felt himself peaceful, calm and…happy. This is his true self. _

_Suddenly the brightness of the light dimmed just a bit, but he noticed the difference at once. As if the light was going to disappear. _No!_ As if he was slipping away from his true self. He didn´t want to. Just when there was all well. He tried to grasp to this beautiful place, where was no boredom. Calm assurance of that he is like he is supposed to be. That there isn´t anything wrong with him. And now he is hearing again the disturbing voice._


	3. Back

"Sherlock! Sherlock?" John called his name. He has turned him to lie by his side. He hadn´t stopped to call Sherlock´s name and shaking him. What would he do, if he lost Sherlock? What he would say to mrs Hudson, to Lestrade, to little Molly and specially, to Mycroft, the mighty big brother? What would he tell himself, if he, a doctor, wasn´t able to save his best friend from dying to his hands? Should he call an ambulance? Sherlock wouldn´t approve it. He dislikes hospitals or any kind of institutes. He had to be able to wake him from the sleep of death by his bare hands. Sherlock trusted him even to that point, that the doctor, _his_ doctor, followed the crazy detective to the death and carried him back. This man always wanted the impossible. Just now John Watson is at the gates of impossible. "Sherlock!"

Finally John saw, that Sherlock took a breath. It has been just some minutes, but it has felt like eternity. John Watson took a breath himself without noticing, that he has forgot himself to breathe. Sherlock breathed again. John didn´t even notice, that he has hugged the detective, who stared at him, confused, as if he couldn´t remember, who this man was. John sighed for a relief and looked at Sherlock, who seemed to recover quite rapidly. His distant gaze is still there, but his vitals were stabilizing fast. He seemed like he had been far away and was now coming back. Did John notice a disappointment in Sherlock´s eyes?

"John?" The detective said in a distant voice, as he has just identify his doctor, the only one, whom he trusted in the world. "You are back."

"Just in time, I saw. What did you think you were doing? You scared me. It was so close, that you aren´t dead now. If I have come some minutes later…" John couldn´t hinder himself shivering.

"I need something to investigate. I was just bored. I was bored to breath. Then I decided, that I don´t have to." Sherlock answered simply.

"So you decided to investigate your own death? What are these, after all?" John didn´t notice, that he has started to shout.

"Oh no, not at all. I just decided to stop breathing. But it wasn´t so easy. These pills helped me to do that. They are for my experiments."

"Right. You decided to stop your breathing by pills. A great plan. A little human experiment. Did it occurred to your brilliant mind, that you cannot live without breathing? Did you thought one second, how could oxygen deprivation effect to your brain work?" John felt frustrated. Sometimes Sherlock was like a child with too big brain.

"I am well without eating much, without drinking, without sleeping. So how can breathing differ so much all that. "

" It is a basic knowledge. You have to breathe, how boring it is for you. You just cannot stop it. You die, if you stop it "

"Then I have decided to forget it. It is not important."

Sherlock was sitting now. The boredom inside him didn´t drown him as totally as earlier. He remembered the burning light spot inside him, but it didn´t tempt him anymore. Who knows, maybe there will emerge a interesting murder soon? And if not, he can handle that too.

"It would be a time for a cup of tea. Did you remember milk?" He said giving John a little smile.


End file.
